Thinking the Worst of You
by EmHarper
Summary: A misleading profile brings the BAU to believe that one of the worst criminals they've seen in a while is actually one of their own team members... •Reid!Centric•
1. Chapter 1

**_❝Suspicion haunts the guilty mind.❞  
\- William Shakespare_**

Dr. Spencer Reid looked down at the open file that lay before him, his mind racing with endless possibilities as to what this criminal might be attempting to achieve. He rubbed the back of his knuckles against his chin, a habit that had originated when he was a young boy, deep in thought. He almost didn't notice the engine of the black SUV he was riding in turn off after it had pulled over to the side of the road, the colleagues he'd been driving with spilling out of the car.

He sighed and picked up the file, shoving it into his shoulder bag, and followed the rest of his team into the local police department, lost in thought. Immediately, he made his way over to a conference table, ignoring introductions, once again pulling the case file out of his bag and spreading it's contents around the table in front of him.

Behind him, he could hear the other agents speaking with the local detective. He bit his lip, trying unsuccessfully to block out the introductions that he'd heard multiple times before.

"Detective Haywood? I'm Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

 _'Insert handshake_ ,' Spencer thought.

"These are Agents Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Hotchner, and Dr Reid is over at the table starting to sort through the case files."

He could feel eyes on him so sent a wave over his shoulder as a greeting.

Haywood's reply was inaudible, but Spencer knew his reply would be something along the lines of: "Thanks for coming. This case has really started to stump us, so it's great to have fresh eyes to look over it. We've set up a work space in the corner with all the equipment you require, which your comrade seems to have already discovered. Please, feel free to give me a shout if you need anything else."

Spencer sighed, picking up the file and re-reading it slowly. Despite the fact that he had an eidetic memory and could read 20,000 words per minute, he wanted to make sure that he hadn't missed any important information that was hidden between the lines of the printed text. He payed close attention to the patent facts of the case.

 _Eight murders throughout the past two years, all killed in Quantico, Virginia at around ten pm. They were targeted on their way back to their cars; their throats had been slit from behind, followed by additional cuts to their wrists and three stabs to their heart post-mortem. It seemed almost Jack the Ripper style, excluding the fact that none of the victims were prostitutes and all had subsidiary lacerates. The victims didn't have much in common, which was troubling for serial killings of this scale. There didn't seem to be any clear motives either. So what was this unsub trying to prove?_

Spencer was engrossed in his thoughts, unable to recognise that his colleagues had joined him and were staring intently at him, some wearing amused expressions as they watched the youngest member of their team work that enigmatic brain of his.

After a while, done with the silence, one of them spoke up. "Reid?" Rossi pushed. "Have you found anything?"

Spencer looked up, almost surprised by the fact that he now had an audience, and cleared his throat. "Uh," he started, rummaging clumsily through the file. "Well, this particular unsub only seems to target people within the Quantico area, suggesting that he could possibly be involved in military affairs since Quantico's the site of one of the largest military corps bases in the world, as well as the site of the DEA, NCIS, HMX-1—"

"Yeah, Reid," Morgan interjected, chuckling to himself. "We know. We live here, remember?"

Spencer nodded and bit his lip, mentally slapping himself for rambling on about the obvious. "Um, also," he continued, evidently less confident than before, "the unsub targets his victim's throats, yet continues to harm them by stabbing them after they're already dead".

"So, you're saying it's a personal killing." Prentiss confirmed.

Spencer nodded.

"There's something else," Rossi added. "All these victims were killed on their way back to their cars."

"Yeah, but how's that important?" Jennifer, "JJ", asked.

"Ah," Rossi said, holding a finger up. "You didn't let me finish. The cars aren't the important part; where the victims were _coming_ _from_ is. You see, every single one of the people murdered were heading to their cars from some sort of medical facility. For example, victim one had visited a psychiatrist, victim two a GP, victim three a hospital, et cetera."

"So our unsub has something against doctors" Morgan said bluntly.

"Not necessarily" Spencer spoke up. "The unsub's MO could be anything. Maybe he's a doctor who gets riled up when patients refuse his treatment, inevitably going to another business, and kills out of aggravation." He looked around at the concerned faces glaring down at him. "Which probably isn't the case… it was just a speculation."

"Anyway," Prentiss coughed, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen upon the team. "What about the victimology? Do the victims have anything in common besides exiting medical facilities prior to their deaths?"

"Nothing we can tell from the files" Hotch sighed, grabbing his phone out of his suit pocket. "I'll call Garcia, see if she can come up with anything."

The Agents nodded, returning their attention to the files.

"I'll, uh," Spencer started, managing to trip over a chair as he began to back away from the table, "go and make a geographical profile to see if there's any pattern in hospitals the unsub is targeting."

The others nodded, watching him leave the room, all sharing the same thought.

"Is it just me or is Reid particularly awkward today?" Prentiss whispered to Morgan.

"Yeah, if that's even possible."

The two watch as Reid abruptly stopped what he was doing and glared at them.

JJ laughed. "Yeah, he totally heard you."

Morgan rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the documents before him, continuing to occasionally glance up at his younger friend. He had to admit it, Reid had been acting strange over the past couple of weeks. More distant, more quiet, more disturbed…

What the hell was troubling him?


	2. Chapter 2

**_❝The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy.❞  
\- Jim Rohn_**

Spencer felt alone, both physically and mentally. While he was stuck here drawing dots on a map the rest of his team were out looking at crime scene, surveying the area, working on the profile. He hated it when they did that to him. Just because he was the youngest didn't mean that he was incapable of going out into the field - they knew that. He was just as good as them, possibly even better. He didn't need protection, or whatever it was his team felt like they were saving him from.

He sighed as he finished the geographical profile, his speciality, and took a step back to see the whole board. He glanced over the markings and ran his fingers through his hair, mind whirling.

Suddenly, something clicked.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and instinctively clicked on one particular contact. The phone only had to ring once before being answered by a chirpy voice.

"This is the all powerful and mighty God Garcia. Whisper me your wishes and consider them granted, young mortal."

"Garcia," Spencer started, unamused by her introduction. "I need you to cross reference something between all eight victims."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Can you check their medical records?"

"I already have. Couldn't find anything out of the ordinary."

"Can you check again?"

"Sure thing. Anything specific you're looking for?"

"Any mention of Schizophrenia."

The line remained silent for a moment, the only sound was the fast tapping of fingers against a keyboard. Moments later, a small gasp followed the quietude.

"Oh my dear Reid, how did you manage to piece this one together?"

* * *

The team came back into the department in small drags of twos or threes, all holding a new piece of information concerning the investigation. They instinctively gathered around the table of their makeshift base, faces solemn as they prepared the evidence.

"I hope someone's got something good because I've visited three of the crime scenes and have come back with squat" Morgan sighed.

"Well, JJ and I visited the victims' houses and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary," Prentiss furthered. "They all had clean records, decent jobs, lived in nice neighbourhoods and, apparently, were generally amiable people. Some even had families. Not the type of people to have any enemies."

"Well this is fantastic," Morgan moaned. "Does anyone actually have any useful information or are we still stuck on square one?"

"I might have something," Hotch stated thoughtfully. "A visit to the coroner's office has lead me to believe that our unsub has at least some medical knowledge."

"How do you infer that?"

"The precision of the cuts, as well as the fact that the unsub has targeted the major arteries."

"So our unsub is anyone who's made it through a ninth grade science lesson without falling asleep."

Hotch gave a 'fair enough' shrug. "Also, the cuts weren't particularly deep, only as much as they needed to be to ensure no chance of survival."

"So our unsub isn't particularly confident," Rossi confirmed. "I wouldn't go as far as saying it's because they're new to this after eight victims, so they must have issues with self confidence and insecurity."

"He's also neurotic," Prentiss supplied. "He can't risk the victims surviving so he goes the extra mile to slit their wrists, either as an assurance or a precaution."

Hotch nodded and began repeating the information. "So our unsub is based here in Quantico, involved in military activity and has medical knowledge. They're also insecure, neurotic and paranoid. This isn't enough to go on to be able to present a profile, but it's a start."

"Reid, do you have anything to add to that?"

All eyes turned to Spencer, staring expectantly at him.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, I do actually. I looked at all of the buildings involved in the investigation and came up with one important aspect we hadn't considered in the victimology."

"Which is?" Morgan pushed.

"Schizophrenia" he stated unequivocally.

Rossi looked at him in consternation. "So, you're saying that all eight victims were schizophrenics?"

"Not all of them, but they were all involved in it in some way. Only one of the victims was actually suffering from the disease, two were having tests or receiving results on whether they had it, three were part of the medical industry whom deal with schizophrenic patients, and a furthering two victims had family members who were involved with schizophrenia."

"But isn't it odd that all eight of them were in Quantico, especially since they were killed between such a short period of time?" JJ asked. "I mean, what's the average number of schizophrenics?"

"About one-point-one percent of adults in the United States have schizophrenia, which is approximately two-point-six million people, but Quantico does have quite good medical service when it comes to diagnosing the disease or prescribing drugs for it, which is probably why they all came here. If you look at their files, only five of the victims actually lived here, so the other three traveled here for diagnosis tests, which doesn't seem abnormal considering the fact that these murders took place over a span of two years."

"So the only common factor between all eight victims is that they were all in some way involved with schizophrenia," Morgan clarified. "Well that narrows things down a bit."

"Um, there's one more thing," Spencer uttered. "I noticed that the victims were all killed exactly three months apart, more specifically always being on the fifteenth day of every third month."

"The eighth victim was killed three months ago" Hotch stated.

"And today's the fifteenth" Prentiss gasped.

"Which means there's going to be another killing sometime today" Spencer confirmed.

Morgan slammed a fist against the table. "Well, shit".


	3. Chapter 3

**_❝Time is the fire in which we burn.❞  
\- Gene Roddenberry_**

The team began to stress, frantic to catch this killer before they struck again.

"Is there anyway that we can locate our unsub's next target?" Hotch asked the team sternly.

"I couldn't find any pattern in targeted hospitals from the geographical profile," Spencer announced, rummaging through his notes.

"Nothing in the victimology can tell us who the unsub will be going after either," Prentiss added.

"Morgan, call Garcia," Hotch instructed.

"Yes sir," Morgan obeyed, grabbing his phone and quickly dialling the all too familiar number.

As soon as the line clicked, indicating that she had picked up, Morgan quickly made a point to warn her that she was on speaker phone.

"Why?" Garcia replied flirtatiously. You could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you scared that I might say something that would embarrass you?"

"No, I'm just trying to keep this PG for Pretty Boy."

"Aw, poor baby Spencer, run along and learn a couple of stats while the adults have a grown up conversation."

"Very funny Garcia," Spencer replied while rolling his eyes, trying to prevent the hurt he felt from creeping into his voice.

"C'mon Reid, where's your sense of humour?" Morgan laughed.

"I'll laugh about it after we've caught this unsub, who, I might add, will kill another innocent person in less than five hours."

"God, why do you have to always be so serious?"

"Boys, cut it out or you'll both be sent to the naughty corner," JJ intervened.

"Sorry mom" Morgan joked.

"Garcia," Hotch pressed, ignoring the look JJ was shooting Derek. "See if there are any appointments booked here in Quantico relating to schizophrenia."

"Just for today?"

"Exactly."

"And make it within around about a three hour time period of ten pm," Rossi added.

"Okie dokie."

The line became silent for a moment while Garcia worked her magic.

"Okay, I've found two booked appointments within your specifications. One is for eight o'clock with Dr. James Turner and the other is for half past seven with Dr. Sofie Williams. I've already sent you the addresses."

"Awesome. Thanks baby girl" Morgan replied with a smirk before ending the call.

"Rossi and Morgan, you two take Dr. turner while Prentiss and I will visit Dr. Williams." Hotch instructed. "JJ, you and Reid stay here and work on the profile a bit more."

Despite wanting to protest, Spencer nodded.

"Right, lets go."

He watched the others file out of the police department and turned to JJ, sighing as he slumped down into one of the chairs and flipped open one of the files, re-reading it for, what felt like, the sixtieth time.

* * *

Spencer bit his lip in irritation as he over-exaggerated crossing out another name on the whiteboard he'd been working on. At this point, he felt like banging his head against the wall. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, deep in thought.

"Are you alright Spence?" JJ asked, looking up from her computer.

He shook his head. "Gotta love being cooped up in a police department all day," he sighed. "Especially with the amazing coffee they provide us with."

JJ smirked. "Yeah, I've got to agree with you on that one."

Spencer paced around the room, resting the urge to kick over a chair. "It's been two hours and we've come up with nothing," he moaned, "and my head is starting to kill me because of it."

JJ pursed her lips, concerned for the younger agent. Eventually, she sighed. "How about you go and grab us some decent coffee," she suggested. "It'll do you good to get some fresh air. Also, I'm starving, so a muffin would be highly appreciated."

He considered this for a while. He looked around the cramped room before nodding. Without hesitation, he grabbed his shoulder bag and raced towards the door, anticipating the freedom.

He stepped outside, relishing the feeling of the cool air against his skin, basking in the clean smell that wasn't of pine air freshener. He smiled to himself before undertaking his journey for the task at hand: coffee retrieval. He remembered seeing a coffee shop just a couple of blocks from the station, so instinctively turned right towards the shop's memorised location.

He cleared his mind, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves of trees, the slapping of shoes against pavement, the veering of cars in the city of bad drivers. As he walked along, enjoying the nightlife of Quantico, he suddenly remembered a piece of information he'd been meaning to tell JJ about the profile. Out of tendency, he immediately reached for his phone, stopping himself midway after thinking better of it.

 _'It's not_ that _important,'_ he told himself. _'It can wait until I get back with JJ's order. She's smart; she's probably already figured it out anyway.'_

Spencer sighed, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. The night had abruptly gained an unwelcoming chill, a bitterness that sent goosebumps up his arms.

He could see the welcoming lights of the 'open 24/7' café in the distance, slowly getting closer as he picked up his pace, smells of freshly brewed coffee beans and crisp baked goods beckoning him inside. He reached for the door gratefully, savouring the wall of heat that hit him as he stepped inside. The shop was practically empty, only the staff and a teenage couple sitting at a table in the corner of the shop occupied the room. He walked up to the counter and quickly placed his order, trying to avoid conversation with the cashier as he reverted back to his shy and awkward self. He sat down at the table closest to the heater, trying to pry his mind away from the case he'd been working on for sixteen hours straight. Thankfully, the cinnamon brioche he'd ordered for himself gave him the opportunity to do so. He was completely focused on the sweet heaven before him, almost not registering the fact that his phone was ringing loudly from his coat pocket.

He grabbed for it, noting that it had only been half and hour since he'd left the station, and answered it on the fifth ring.

"This is Reid," he mumbled through bites of food.

"Reid, I've tried calling you three times," an angry voice replied. _Hotch._

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It doesn't matter now, we've got bigger problems."

Spencer braced himself for the bad news, knowing that Hotch was going to present the information to him whether he wanted it or not. However, the message he received was not what he was expecting.

"There's been another murder."


	4. Chapter 4

❝ **What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds?** ❞

 **-Fyodor Dostoevsky**

Spencer didn't have time to visit the scene. Instead, he ran back to the department, forgetting about the coffees, his mind completely focused on the case.

He pushed open the heavy, glass, entrance doors and made his way over to join JJ, glancing at the files that overspread the table and the new set of photos that had been added to the whiteboard.

"What happened," Spencer panted, slightly out of breath.

"We were wrong about where the unsub would strike next," she replied earnestly, looking towards the wall aimlessly.

Spencer sighed as he pulled out a chair, slowly sitting down and placing his hands thoughtfully on the table.

"Where are the others?" He asked slowly.

"They're at the scene."

"All of them?!"

Almost on cue, the phone began to ring. JJ leapt for it, as if she'd been on edge waiting for it, and instantly put it on speaker.

"Hotch," she said. "You've got me and Reid."

"We've got another body," he announced **,** stating the obvious. "Male, aged around his late twenties or early thirties. Sheriff's identified him as Tim Tracy."

"Our unsub is definitely sticking to their MO," Prentiss added. "Throat slashed from behind, lacerations to the wrists and stab wounds to the heart post-mortem."

"Victimology still the same?" JJ asked.

"We can officially count this as our second victim who actually suffered from schizophrenia," Rossi confirmed.

"We can also add new information to the profile," Morgan said.

"Like what?" Spencer questioned.

"For staters, we can say that our unsub is involved in police affairs. Why else would they strike three hours early and not at a location we were at?"

"There's another thing," Prentiss added. "This time we have a witness."

* * *

The team left the scene fairly quickly after a decent scope, determined to find out more about the tricky unsub they were dealing with.

Spencer watched them enter the building, arms folded, Morgan cradling a young teen under the wing of him arm, steadily directing her to a free table. Spencer could see the horror in her eyes as she shakily sat down, the horrors she'd witnessed only hours before-hand constantly causing her to question her sanity, her view on the world and the people around her.

After double checking that she was alright to be left alone for a moment, stressing that he'd be right around the corner, Morgan made his way over to where Spencer was standing, joining him to asses the state of the young girl.

"Who is she?" Spencer asked, nodding in her direction.

"Charlotte Healey," Morgan replied bluntly. "She had just finished a first aid course when she came outside to see our unsub attack Mr. Tracy."

"She tried to help him," Spencer stated, noticing the blood on her hands. "A shaken med student trying to play hero, yet doing so unsuccessfully."

"Wouldn't you do the same?"

Spencer gave a 'fair-enough' shrug. "Are you going to question her straight away or wait until she calms down a bit?"

"I think I might do it now while it's still fresh in her memory," Morgan replied coolly, already heading towards the witness.

Spencer watched as he cautiously sat down, putting on a soothing tone as he politely introduced himself and explained the process of the interrogation, the girl obligating hesitantly.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in debate of what to do next. In the end, he found himself drifting aimlessly over to JJ.

"Hey," he said, hands in his pockets. "You OK?"

She sniffed before nodding. "It's just annoying when a wrong profile results in the loss of another innocent life."

He nodded in agreement. "The profile was rushed, we didn't have much to go on. It's a simple mistake that ended in horrible consequences."

"Still pains me that we can't save everyone."

The two stood side by side in silence for a moment until Spencer sighed.

"I'm sorry about your coffee," he said softly.

JJ forced a laugh. "It's alright. I think I prefer the the crappy cop coffee anyway."

"If it makes you feel any better I managed to get you that muffin."

She looked wide eyed at the bag Spencer suddenly revealed and held before her, seemingly conjuring it from thin air. She grabbed for it greedily. "Dear Lord, Spencer Reid, you are a life saver!"

He laughed, watching her tear off the wrapper and scoff down the item of food like there was no tomorrow, a contingency in their line of work anyway.

* * *

After what seemed like hours, Derek Morgan finally wrapped up the interrogation with the witness and made his way over to a select few group of members of his team.

"What've you found?" Rossi asked, fingering a notebook.

"Well, Charlotte was pretty worked up by all of this," Morgan replied. "So I'm not sure how accurate the description she gave me is."

"It's better than nothing," Prentiss stated, arms folded.

Derek sighed, nodding. "She reckons that our unsub is quite lanky, around the 180 mark for height and is practically anorexic skinny. She didn't get a clear view of their face because they were wearing a hoodie, but she could definitely tell that the attacker was male."

"I reckon we have enough to present a profile," Hotch concluded.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Morgan replied honestly.

"And why's that?"

"Because we basically just profiled one of the members of our team," Rossi interjected, gesturing to a person behind him.

Hotch gazed over to where two of the members of his team were talking, the two of them feel in conversation with one another.

"From what we profiled," Rossi continued, " it makes it sound as though..."

"Our unsub is Reid," Hotch finished.

 **AN/ Appologies for the length of this chapter - hopefully I'll manage to write the next chapters a little longer :)**

 **Also, thanks for all the follows and nice reviews! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

❝ **Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating that absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will.** ❞

 **\- Martin Luther King, Jr.**

Spencer could sense the tension in the air. Oddly, the latent hostility he felt wasn't between him and JJ, but between him and the whole department, if that was even possible. He could feel all attention was focused on him as conversations slowly died down, the building drifting into an awkward and eerie silence. He instantly recognised the impression that all eyes were trained on him - scratch that, all _guns_ were trained on him.

He gulped, eyeing one of the multiple reflective mirrors situated among the department to confirm his previous suspicion. Guns had been removed from the safety of their holsters and were pointed with ease in his direction. He held back the urge to pinch himself, almost writing off the situation as a figment of his imagination, but it all felt too real to be a cruel dream.

Spencer slowly raised his hands and turned around, fear and confusion the dominating expressions that were etched into the lines in his face.

His gaze instantly fell to Morgan, who, as per usual, was at the front line, leading the assault, Hotch only a few steps behind him.

"JJ," Hotch said slowly, "get behind me, now."

At first she was reluctant, then nodded as she began to fully register the situation, sending Reid an unreadable look as she quickly obeyed Hotch's order.

Now he was completely alone; just him against the world - literally. Somehow, despite how terrified he felt, Spencer managed to work up enough nerve to speak first, his voice weak and quavering as he did so. "Morgan? What the hell is going on?"

He watched as he noticed his friend restrain a sigh, desperately wanting to look down at his feet. However, being the alpha-male he was, Morgan looked Spencer straight in the eye, his tone harsh as he naturally said, "Spencer Reid, you're under arrest for suspicion of the series of murders taken place in the Quantico area throughout the past two years."

Spencer froze, shocked at the words his colleague, his best friend, had just uttered.

He watched as Morgan gave a slight nod in his direction, Prentiss taking it as an indication to stride cautiously up to Spencer. Despite his protests, she snatched his gun out of its holster and shoved it into her own. This motion was followed by her stepping around him until she was out of sight behind him, grabbing one of his hands and forcefully lowering it into a cold, metal object. Spencer grimaced as he heard the slight click of the cuffs being tightly fastened around his left wrist.

"Emily," he whispered, trying to fight her off. "Prentiss." His voice was getting louder, more frantic with each word. "Please, what're you doing?" With every passing second that she didn't respond to his pleas, his voice modulated higher, his resistance more aggressive. "Please stop!"

Despite his best efforts, Prentiss managed to grab his other arm and restrain it in the same manner as she had done the left one.

"C'mon Reid, lets go," was all Emily was able to say as she dragged Spencer off.

He knew there was no point in arguing, he worked with some of the most stubborn people that have ever existed. Instead, Spencer complied, allowing Prentiss to steadily direct him towards one of the many interrogation rooms within the department, all the while not losing eye contact with Derek. He willed himself to put as much expression into his eyes as possible, sending Morgan a look that was compiled of every thought and feeling that ran through him. It was enough to make his friend look down, unable to look at him, causing rage to seep through Spencer's veins, unable to say anything as he was lead off in the direction of betrayal.

* * *

Spencer sat in the interrogation room, alone with his rage and thoughts. He resisted the urge to send glares towards the reflective window, knowing his friends were assessing him from the safety of the other side, focusing his attention on a fly that was crawling around on the other side of the table that he was chained to.

He hoped that the betrayal he felt was reflected on his face, a given since he knew how bad he was at keeping his emotions to himself, wanting Morgan and the others to feel a sense of empathy as they studied him, deciding on the best interrogation tactic to use against him.

Spencer knew he was at an advantage in this way; he knew the agents, knew their strengths and weaknesses, knew the way to approach them to put them on edge. They'd try to see through him, so being the awkward and sensitive Reid they all knew wasn't the way to go. He had to act confident, throw their previous perceptions on him to a state of uncertainty. He knew that they would send in the person who had the least emotional connection to him, most probably Rossi, to attempt to pry information out of him. They'd probably try to use his mother against him, knowing fully well how sensitive he was about the topic of his mothers illness. He also knew that they knew that he was at an advantage, so would probably try to throw him off. In that case, they'd send JJ or Morgan in, knowing that they held the strongest bonds with him. However, in both scenarios they hadn't accounted for one particular detail: the fact that he wasn't guilty. That was his leverage.

He smirked slightly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms cooly as he ran his approach through his head once again. He knew that he was innocent and, deep down, despite the profile and their accusations, his team did too.

Almost on cue, he heard the faint clicks of locks being undone, the light creak of the door as it was slowly opened, light flooding through into the dark and practically empty room. He managed to suppress an eye roll but couldn't hide the look of disgust as he saw Rossi stride into the room, hauling two, large, cardboard boxes and setting them cooly down on the table before him.

"Seriously?" Spencer spat, raising an eyebrow at the boxes. "You and I both know that those are empty, apart from possibly one or two files containing my BAU application and a couple of notes about my life so far, but definitely not my criminal record seeing as I don't even have one."

Rossi shrugged, sitting down on the opposite end of the table and folding his arms, making himself at home.

The two sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. In the end, it was Rossi who looked away first.

"You can lose the smug grin, Reid," he stated, picking up a file. "I've known you for long enough to confidently say that's not who you are."

"But you're doubting yourself," Spencer replied almost instantly. "You just arrested me for the murder of nine people, you honestly think that everything you know about me is one-hundred percent correct?"

"Don't make this hard on yourself, Reid."

Spencer rolled his eyes, focusing all his attention on making sure his voice didn't crack, desperately trying to uphold his bad-boy act.

"OK, fine," he said, shrugging as he crossed his legs. "Tell me Rossi, what exactly is your reasoning for pinning this on me?"

The older agent stood up, pacing around the room as he started listing the main points of the profile. "Our unsub is male, around 180cm tall and anorexic skinny. He lives within the Quantico area, involved in military activity, has knowledge in police affairs and in medical studies. He's smart, neurotic, insecure and paranoid." He paused for a moment before continuing. "You're obviously male, have a height of 185 and are practically a stick."

"Correction: I'm a pipe cleaner with eyes."

Rossi ignored his interjection. "You're an agent for the BAU at the FBI, are involved in this case and literally introduce yourself as doctor. As for your personality, you're highly intelligent, socially awkward, sensitive, and are generally a kind person. So, can you now see why you're in custody?"

Spencer nodded slowly, his mind elsewhere.

"To further our reasoning," Rossi continued, "the last murder took place at a time that you were absent from department."

"I was getting-"

"Coffee for JJ," Rossi finished, an eyebrow raised. "But does it honestly take over half an hour to retrieve coffee from a cafe that's only a ten minute walk away?"

"I..." He started before sighing. "I had a lot on my mind."

Rossi ignored him, continuing his streak. "From here to the crime scene it takes fifteen minutes to walk, eight to run. In the thirty five minutes that you were gone, you could've easily run to the scene, put on a hoodie, locate and kill Tim Tracy, dispose of the weapon and jacket and run back to the department." He thought for a moment before adding, "which may account for why you didn't return with said coffee."

"Ask the cashier, I was definitely at that shop."

"It's on the way to the scene. There's a whole twenty five minutes in which you're unaccounted for. You could've popped in after killing your latest victim."

"You're basing this whole accusation off of a coffee run?"

Rossi shrugged again.

Spencer sighed and leaned forward. "You know, Rossi, the whole 'you stating facts and playing with scenarios to see how I react' technique gets pretty old after a while."

"And the whole 'you putting on an entirely different personality to try and throw me off' approach gets old within the same amount of time. So, I propose this: I'll stop if you stop."

Spencer tried to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully achieving to do so. He had to admit it, despite the circumstances, Rossi had been growing on him. In the end he nodded, willing the older agent to continue.

"We called Garcia and asked her to dig into your mothers patient record a bit."

Spencer bit his lip, completely losing the confident physique he'd been aiming for. He knew they'd drag her into this.

"Guess what day she was admitted into hospital."

"The fifteen of March, 2000," he mumbled back. He could never forget that day.

"Which ties in perfectly with the unsub's consistent kill period; the fifteenth day of every third month."

"You think that I killed those people to... What? Get revenge for my mothers hospitalisation?" Spencer could feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, his voice cracking as a lump formed in his throat.

Rossi opened his mouth to say more, but Reid cut him abruptly off.

"I love my mom; she's the only family member I have left, the only one who understands me. If you think that any of that would change just because she suffers from schizophrenia, then your profiling skills are way off. No, I wouldn't kill or harm anyone on her behalf, or for any reason for that matter, and you know this! My mom and I aren't freaks! We're... We're not..." He stopped, unable to say anything else, breathing deeply as tears began to stream down the side of his face. He put his head in his hands in shame, not able to look at Rossi any longer.

He felt a pressure applied to his shoulder, presumably a hand, and, out of instinct, turned and wrapped his arms around an unsuspecting man who, after a moments hesitation, returned his embrace.

The two men stayed in that position for what felt like hours, Spencer's wet tears slowly drying until all he was left with were dry and heavy sobs. Rossi looked down at the broken younger agent, turning his head towards the window and, knowing Hotch was outside watching the two of them, gave him a look that said, _'I can't do this anymore.'_ Rossi gently pushed himself out of Reid's tight grasp and quickly wiped the damp patches off his suit jacket, heading to the door.

As he pushed open the exit, he sent a sympathetic glance in the young agent's direction, quickly leaving before he himself broke down at the sight of the vernal man.

This left Spencer one again alone, sobbing into his arms as his thoughts sent him messages that were anything but comfort.

 _Spencer Reid. Doctor, Agent, liability, weakling, nothing._


	6. Chapter 6

**❝Life takes its path and sometimes there are people to blame. Of course there are bad people in this world. Good, bad, it happens unfortunately. But in a way I think if there was more focus on the good, more good would happen.❞**

 **-Andrea Corr**

"You don't think he did it," Morgan more-or-less stated as he watched Rossi slowly exit the interrogation room, head held low with his fingers pinching his nose in a painful thought. He watched as his superior jumped slightly, noticing the look in his eyes as he registered the fact that he wasn't alone.

Rossi sighed. "I honestly don't know," he uttered, running a hand through his hair, a habit he'd ironically picked up from Reid. He shrugged off his jacket, still stained by wet patches, and placed it unevenly over the back of a chair.

"I'm sure as hell that Reid's innocent," Morgan announced, mostly as a reassurance for himself. "Sure, the profile fits perfectly with him, but we've been wrong before."

"Did you catch his reactions?"

Morgan shrugged. "I tried, but, of course, Reid is the expert in that sort of thing." He paused for a moment before laughing half-heartedly. "Ironic how Reid _reids_ people and how his favourite past time activity is _reiding."_

Rossi sent him a look that resembled one you gave to a madman, as if he was trying to figure out whether to admit him into a psychiatric ward.

"Did someone spike your coffee or is this just your way of dealing with the situation?"

Morgan shrugged, his expression growing stern. "Whatever, man."

Rossi sighed and turned towards Hotch, who was looking at him expectantly. "What do you think?"

"Honestly? There's no way of telling." Hotch paused for a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Reid knows our interrogation tactics; he knows how to play us. Before he acted extremely confident, pretty convincingly I might add, before very quickly changing his dominant emotion to sadness - a little too quickly for my liking."

"You believe that he was faking all of it?"

"I told you, I don't know what to believe." He watched Rossi exhale slowly, his eyes looking as distant as his thoughts. "We can't let our own personal connections cloud our judgment, David. You know this better than anyone. For all we know, Reid is guilty of murdering nine innocent people. We don't know what goes on inside that boy's head or what he's completely capable of."

"Why are you so insistent that he's guilty?"

"Why are you so insistent that he's not?"

"Because you weren't the one he cried into the shoulder of. You didn't have to stand there, watching as he slowly broke down into the fragile boy he is. So I'm sorry if I'm not able to have the same sense of professionalism as I'm usually able to maintain on other cases, but this isn't a regular case, and I'm pretty damn certain that the delicate young man whom we have locked up in custody is innocent. Even if I'm wrong about this and it completely ruins my whole career, well, I'd rather be wrong than be the man to put away a member of my family." The older man sighed before leaving Hotch alone to contemplate, quietly adding, "I'm sorry, Aaron."

And so it seemed as though it was Aaron Hotchner against the world, alone in his fight for justice. He stood, his gaze fixated on the one-way glass which looked onto the youngest agent, patiently watching as Reid sniffed and tried desperately to stop the tears from flowing once more, wondering whether Spencer felt the same way as he did. After a moment, he sighed, fighting against all logic that screamed at him to stop and think about his actions, and opened the door of the holding room.

He watched as a startled Reid looked up, chewing on his bottom lip as he immediately looked back down, signalling that he didn't want to talk or even make eye contact.

For a moment, Hotch completely forgot where he was and his reasoning for being there, paralysed as he stood with his hand still resting on the door handle. As time passed, he remained in this position until reality suddenly clicked, causing him to furrow his eyebrows and stand up straight, making his way over the the table and awkwardly sitting down.

"Did you know that humans are programmed to think about the worst-case scenarios?" Spencer said quietly, laughing slightly. Hotch cocked his head in confusion. "It's essentially just a case of an overactive imagination used in an ill way, but it does ruin people. We put ourselves through so much stress and anxiety because we tend to dwell on the negative possibilities that are bound never to happen."

"Is there a point to you telling me this?"

"Not really." The young man paused for a moment before softly adding, "is there any point to me telling you anything?"

"Reid, if you were in my position and I in yours, what would you do?"

Spencer barely looked up before answering with a shrug. "Probably the same as you."

The two men sat in silence for a moment, Spencer keeping his head down and his thoughts to himself while Hotch faced an internal battle between logic and instinct. Eventually, instinct won.

Hotch stood up, a cool expression hardened on his face, and made his way over to Spencer, grabbing the hand cuffs that attached his left hand to the underneath of the table, and pulled the chain up sharply with an immense amount of force.

"Ouch!" Reid squirmed as his hand shot up in synchronisation with the chain, curling into an awkward position, the sharp surface digging into his skin. "What are you…"

"Karen McDale, Julie Coughlan, Jeffrey Morrison." He practically spat the words. "These names ringing any bells?"

Spencer grimaced. Hotch could see he was hurting the younger agent yet he refused to show any sense of remorse. "They're the names of the first three victims."

"Correction: _your_ first three victims."

"Hotch, I didn't kill them!"

"Shut up and stop lying to me!" He slammed his hands down on the table, unconsciously bringing Reid's arm down with them, and watched as the man before him bit his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back tears. He cursed himself; he never planned to hurt Spencer that much.

Reid looked at him, mouth wide open while a dumbstruck expression crossed his face, a countenance rarely occurring on the boy's usual factual face. "I-" he started, his voice trembling. "I never killed those people."

Hotch never lost eye contact, watching Spencer's reaction to his accusation in an attempt to catch him off guard. No response came. The older man breathed an exasperated sigh, squaring his shoulders and heading out the door, slamming it shut behind him. As soon as Reid was completely cut off from over-hearing or seeing him, Hotch let his austere fall to a decrepit and jaded mien. He only hoped that Reid had understood his message.

* * *

Spencer's mind whirled. What had Hotch meant by that short and, quite frankly, weird approach. His sudden change in attitude meant something, a clue to the end of a puzzle. But what was the piece? And what did this puzzle mean?

He thought for a moment. Hotch obviously knew that he would figure it out soon, why else would he make it so inconspicuous?

Spencer sighed and looked down at his throbbing hand. The force in which Hotch had hurled it against the table caused it to turn numb and red. A nasty bruise would probably follow. Spencer rubbed the cold skin in an attempt to restore feeling to it. Luckily it wasn't his favourite hand, that title belonged to the right.

He gasped slightly as a sharp sting erupted over his palm, a pain only capable of being made by a jagged object. Curiously, in a way that would draw an attention, he carefully turned over his anaesthetised hand, drawing his attention to a small object lying in the middle of his palm. Warily prying his cramped fingers away, the object soon revealed itself.

Reid grinned. This was Hotch's message. He knew Spencer was innocent and this was his way of showing it. A means of escape.

* * *

Hotch sighed as he glanced down at his watch. Nearly ten pm. He scratched his chin as his mind searched for some clue as to who the real unsub was. However, the only person he could think of was already sitting in custody.

He jumped slightly as he felt a vibration go off in his jacket pocket. Slowly, he reached for his phone and, not recognising the number, cautiously answered the call.

"Yes?"

"Are you alone?"

Hotch let out a sigh of relief as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked around. The department was relatively quiet. Everyone, excluding a few detectives and the BAU team, had gone home. Deciding not to risk anyone overhearing, Hotch made his way outside, signally that he was okay when Morgan looked up and sent him a questioning look.

"I am now." He shivered as he stepped outside into the bitter night, regretting not grabbing his over coat on the way out. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I had to take some pain killers for the wrist though."

Hotch laughed slightly.

"Sorry about that, Reid."

"I'd mention something about being a twelve year old protégé in a Los Vegas high school and how I can handle a lot harsher beatings than that, but, being completely honest, it hurt like hell."

"There won't be a second apology. Accept it and move on."

"Right, sorry."

"Was there a reason to this call?"

"Oh, right, yeah. First off, I just want to tell you my relative location, just incase my theory comes true and I'm suspected even more."

"It's alright, I can just ask Garcia to track the phone booth you're calling from. At least, that's what I assume you're doing."

"'Tis."

"So, what's this theory of yours?"

"I was thinking about how today's murder was different to the others in terms of the timing. Why would the unsub suddenly break his routine and kill three hours early?"

"We assumed it was because he knew that we would be looking for him at his regular time."

"Right, but what if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision? He's aiming for the profile to make it seem as though I'm the unsub. He would've been watching me. He saw me go out of the department alone and took it as an opportunity to strike."

"Where are you going with this?"

"We profiled him to be paranoid. If he's paranoid then wouldn't he try to stick to routine?" He paused for a moment, waiting for Hotch to supply more information to what he was saying. When he didn't, he continued. "Hotch, I think there's going to be another murder. Tonight. On time at ten pm."

Hotch looked down at his watch and froze. "It's already two past."

"I know…"

Almost on cue, JJ came running out of the building.

"Hotch, I-"

"There's been another murder, hasn't there?"

She nodded frantically.

"Great," he mumbled, quickly switching off his phone and shoving it into his pocket. He made a mental note to ask Garcia to run the number that Spencer had called him from.

"There's another thing." JJ announced, following as Hotch began to walk back into the department. "Spence's missing."

Hotch inhaled deeply. "I know."


End file.
